Short Plays

and facing him. Are you⁠—are you joking? O’Flaherty If you’d been brought up by my mother, sir, you’d know better than to joke about her. What I’m telling you is the truth; and I wouldn’t tell it to you if I could see my way to get out of the fix I’ll be in when my mother comes here this day to see her boy in his glory, and she after thinking all the time it was against the English I was fighting. Sir Pearce Do you mean to say you told her such a monstrous falsehood as that you were fighting in the German army? O’Flaherty I never told her one word that wasn’t the truth and nothing but the truth. I told her I was going to fight for the French and for the Russians; and sure who ever heard of the French or the Russians doing anything to the English but fighting them? That was how it was, sir. And sure the poor woman kissed me and went about the house singing in her old cracky voice that the French was on the sea, and they’d be here without delay, and the Orange will decay, says the Shan Van Vocht. Sir Pearce Sitting down again, exhausted by his feelings. Well, I never could have believed this. Never. What do you suppose will happen when she finds out? O’Flaherty She mustn’t find out. It’s not that she’d half kill me, as big as I am and as brave as I am. It’s that I’m fond of her, and can’t bring myself to break the heart in her. You may think it queer that a man should be fond of his mother, sir, and she having bet him from the time he could feel to the time she was too slow to ketch him; but I’m fond of her; and I’m not ashamed of it. Besides, didn’t she win the Cross for me? Sir Pearce Your mother! How? O’Flaherty By bringing me up to be more afraid of running away than of fighting. I was timid by nature; and when the other boys hurted me, I’d want to run away and cry. But she whaled me for disgracing the blood of the O’Flahertys until I’d have fought the divil himself sooner than face her after funking a fight. That was how I got to know that fighting was easier than it looked, and that the others was as much afeard of me as I was of them, and that if I only held out long enough they’d lose heart and give rip. That’s the way I came to be so courageous. I tell you, Sir Pearce, if the German army had been brought up by my mother, the Kaiser would be dining in the banqueting hall at Buckingham Palace this day, and King George polishing his jackboots for him in the scullery. Sir Pearce But I don’t like this, O’Flaherty. You can’t go on deceiving your mother, you know. It’s not right. O’Flaherty Can’t go on deceiving her, can’t I? It’s little you know what a son’s love can do, sir. Did you ever notice what a ready liar I am? Sir Pearce Well, in recruiting a man gets carried away. I stretch it a bit occasionally myself. After all, it’s for king and country. But if you won’t mind my saying it, O’Flaherty, I think that story about your fighting the Kaiser and the twelve giants of the Prussian guard single-handed would be the better for a little toning down. I don’t ask you to drop it, you know; for it’s popular, undoubtedly; but still, the truth is the truth. Don’t you think it would fetch in almost as many recruits if you reduced the number of guardsmen to six? O’Flaherty You’re not used to telling lies like I am, sir. I got great practice at home with my mother. What with saving my skin when I was young and thoughtless, and sparing her feelings when I was old enough to understand them, I’ve hardly told my mother the truth twice a year since I was born; and would you have me turn round on her and tell it now, when she’s looking to have some peace and quiet in her old age? Sir Pearce Troubled in his conscience. Well, it’s not my affair, of course, O’Flaherty. But hadn’t you better talk to Father Quinlan about it? O’Flaherty Talk to Father Quinlan, is it! Do you know what Father Quinlan says to me this very morning? Sir Pearce Oh, you’ve seen him already, have you? What did he say? O’Flaherty He says “You know, don’t you,” he says “that it’s your duty, as a Christian and a good son of the Holy Church, to love your enemies?” he says. “I know it’s my juty as a soldier to kill them,” I says. “That’s right, Dinny,” he says: “quite right. But” says he “you can kill them and do them a good turn afterward to show your love for them” he says; “and it’s your duty to have a mass said for the souls of the hundreds of Germans you say you killed” says he; “for many and many of them were Bavarians and good Catholics” he says. “Is it me that must pay for masses for the souls of the Boshes?” I says. “Let the King of England pay for them” I says; “for it was his quarrel and not mine.” Sir Pearce Warmly. It is the quarrel of every honest man and true patriot, O’Flaherty. Your mother must see that as clearly as I do. After all, she is a reasonable, well disposed woman, quite capable of understanding the right and the wrong of the war. Why can’t you explain to her what the war is about? O’Flaherty Arra, sir, how the divil do I know what the war is about? Sir Pearce Rising again and standing over him. What! O’Flaherty: do you know what you are saying? You sit there wearing the Victoria Cross for having killed God knows how